


what if this storm ends (and i don't see you)

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Road Trips, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They step out of the car; Edward with his gloves on his hands and his brown coat on his back,  and Roy with a scarf half done around his neck and months, years, a lifetime of loneliness on his shoulders.





	what if this storm ends (and i don't see you)

**Author's Note:**

> I had no intention on falling back into FMA, which is and has always been, let's be honest, _the fucking curse of my existence_ , but here we go. I'm intending to write post-Brotherhood things, but since it means I have to rewatch the whole damn series, so until I do, you get that instead. Another road trip story. >hich was, you know, clearly what was missing on this account.
> 
> Special thanks to my beta [dellsey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dellsey) and to everyone who had to hear me complaining during the proccess of writing this.
> 
> Title is from [The Lightning Strike](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S0BDS0-ZwOw) by Snow Patrol.

It's been forty minutes since Roy left Giyoir, and there's still nothing around him but fields along the road and forests in the distance – nothing but bland grey above and pale green below, nothing but the vibrations of the steering wheel under his hands and the sound of the motor buzzing and the beginning of a headache settling behind his skull.

This is what Roy's life looks like, now, apparently. At least for another day or two.

It was supposed to feel like peace, but it doesn't – nothing ever does. It was supposed to feel like a vacation, like rest, like breathing, but it doesn't and he's running again. Gracia's gonna be sad to see him coming back this fast.

“You have to – get yourself together,” she had said. “You can't just keep – destroying yourself like that. And believe me, I know how it is. More than anyone – besides you, I know how it is, and I know you need to rest. You know you can take a week off, in – situations like these.”

“I'm fine,” Roy had said, too fast and too harsh, his muscles tense and his voice cold. He had wondered how Gracia could do it. Staying calm, telling him to rest, to take the time to _grieve_ , like she had already reached that point – but she hadn't, she's just so much better at handling this than he is. He should be ashamed.

“We have this cottage,” Gracia had said. “In Giyoir. A gift from Maes' parents, for our wedding. He might have told you about it.” Oh, yes, he had. He'd showed Roy pictures of a new born Elicia in Gracia's arms, Gracia's smile too bright to even be real, because how the hell could someone look this happy – he had told Roy every single thing about every single day spent on every single holiday here, gushed about how beautiful Gracia looked in her summer dress, offered him to come with them, one time, _come on, Roy, it would be just a week-end_. “You could go there,” Gracia had said. “For a few days. Just to take the time to think, and –”, she had taken a deep breath, “try to – get over this.”

“Gracia,” _how do you do this, how do you manage to hold the pieces together and move forward, how are you so goddamn strong_ , “there's no need to,” he had said. “I'm fine.”

“You're not,” she had said. “Nobody is. Nobody who knew him is.” She was right – of course she was right, and it wasn't fair for him to get people – to get _Gracia Hugues_ worried about him while she would have needed to take care of herself and her daughter first. “I can't go myself,” Gracia had answered. “There's too many things there – too many memories. Later, maybe – Elicia always liked going anyway, she would be sad if we never went back. Just – not now. It's too soon. But you don't know the place, so maybe it would be a nice change for you. Maybe it will help to be in a different setting.”

As much as Roy would roll his eyes and sigh everytime Maes rambled about how magnificent his wife was, he could never have blamed him – Gracia is an angel, and it's been proven so many times but Roy can't get around it, can't even begin to comprehend how it is possible to shine so bright. That's what always bugged him with Maes, too – not in a bad way, not in a way that means that he was uncomfortable with him or that he couldn't get to fully like him, but the opposite. Maes was so damn full of light, and it was beyond everything could imagine, because he'd never known anything like that, so how could he stay friends with him? “You don't have to,” Roy had told Gracia. “You don't have to – do that for me.” His throat had tightened, and it had got a little hard to speak.

“Don't be silly,” Gracia said, and she – smiled, full of sunshine and kindness and _tears_ , and Roy might have cried, right there, if his lifestyle wasn't entirely based on bottling everything up. “Just accept, ok? Just – take care of yourself. Please.”

And so, Roy accepted.

Turns out it was a terrible idea, because he cracked up after one night spent at this house. It had felt like spying over a story that wasn't his, touching something he didn't even have the right to land his eyes onto, spoiling something pure and beautiful with his dirty, dirty hands – and even if death already had done that job before him, it had felt so, so wrong, it still does – and there was a jacket Maes had forgotten here, and it smelled the same as the one he once had given Roy, when they were teenagers, because it had began to rain and Roy had to go home with nothing more than a t-shirt on. And there was a clock above the dining table, ticking and ticking and ticking, like a bomb, like his brain, like everything in the world that isn't right. And there was the wind blowing outside, and Roy had looked throughout the bay window and seen the same trees that were on the pictures, he had seen Maes standing there, calling for Elicia with that big, dumb smile of his –

Gracia was right when she said he didn't know the place and had no feelings attached here, but the house looks like them, looks like _him_ , and Roy couldn't do that, and he had to leave.

And he left.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. He won't tell Gracia he's coming back – maybe not just yet. He'll text her in three, four days, maybe – he'll tell her that the countryside did him good, that breathing some fresh hair was a nice change, and then he'll go back to pretending he's ok, only this time, trying better to do so. Gracia may not even believe him – she's too good at that, too good at _caring,_ and while Roy also finds himself having a certain skill for guessing other people's feelings, he can't bring himself to find the right words. He probably doesn't deserve Gracia, just as he didn't deserve Maes, just like anyone that's ever been near him.

And that's why he left, that's why he runs – that's why he always run.

There's a signboard, a few hundred feet further, the first one Roy's seen since he left Giyoir, indicating he's thirty minutes from East City. That's good – he'll probably have to stop at some point anyway. He could take a hotel room there. He's got time – he's supposed to have taken a leave anyway.

There's someone walking along the road, just after the signboard. They have long blond hair tied in a ponytail and a long brown coat and a backpack hanging on one of their shoulders. Roy can't see much of them besides their back from there, and he isn't sure it's a good idea but he's a grown man, and he isn't sure he's gonna be able to stay sane very long if he stays alone.

And fuck it – he's a cop and a veteran, he could kick a little blond's ass if they ever tried anything dangerous on him anyway.

“Do you need a ride or something?” Roy says after stopping, the window open.

The stranger looks at him for a moment – it's a kid, probably in his early twenties. He has a soft face and gold in his eyes. “Where are you going?” The kid asks.

“Central,” Roy answers.

“Thanks fuck,” he says. “You're a miracle.” Roy smiles a bit, too, and just like that, the stranger opens the door and gets in the car. “You're not gonna tie me up in a basement or bury my body in the fields after killing me, right?”

Roy probably wouldn't have taken such an offer, at his age – _God_ , he sounds so _old,_ wouldn't have climbed in somebody's car for a ride that was going to take at least two days, three if they took their time, because there were so many risks. Chris had done a good job at warning him from all the dangers in life – his _parents_ had done a good job at it by dying when he was six years old. _Life isn't a goddamn joke_ , Chris had said one day he had come home late, when he was young enough for bad people to take adventage of him and too small to defend himself. _You better be fucking careful, or I kill you myself_. “I do not have such plans,” Roy says.

“Good,” the kid says as he takes off his jacket, and Roy notices a flash of metal between the end of the boy's glove and the hem of his sweater. Curiosity makes him wonder about how far it goes, but you aren't supposed to ask such things, and a quick look answers his question anyway, because he can see a piece of metal just above the collar, surrounded by scars and burnt skin.

It takes him one little second to look away, and then Roy starts to drive again. “Where do you come from?” he asks. “There's not much life, here. You must have been walking for a while.”

“Resembool,” the boy says. “I left this morning.” It's five in the afternoon.

“That's a lot of miles,” Roy says. “Aren't there any trains, in Resembool? Or even anywhere close?”

The boy shrugs. “Kinda wanted to walk. Thought I could always climb into somebody's car if I got tired – which is a success, as you can see.”

“Apparently, yes.” When he was younger, Roy would spend the summer days walking as far as he could with Maes – they would take roads they didn't know and go further, time after time. They had spent the night outside, once, falling asleep at the border of a forest – Roy had woken up sore, his neck hurting like hell and his whole body calling for help. Maes' mom was mad, when they got home – a worried kind of mad, but still a scary one, and Chris had thrown Roy an even scarier glance when Mrs Hughes had told her about it. They had more nights out, after – on the roads, in the forest, in goddamn _clubs,_ when they were still so, so young, but old enough to do whatever they wanted.

Then, they joined the army. Then, Maes got married.

And then, he died.

“What's your name, by the way?” The kid asks. “We might be together for a while. Might be useful to know how to call you.”

“Roy Mustang,” Roy says.

And Ed – laughs. “ _Mustang_ ,” he says. “What a fuckin' name.” Roy has to keep his eyes on the road, but he somehow still sees the kid's grin. “Edward,” he says. “Nice to meet you and shit.”

Roy smiles. “Nice to meet you, too.”

 

*

 

Roy tries to do some conversation, but it soon occurs to him that Edward doesn't like talking about himself very much. He still learns a few things about him, eventually, always in quick answers. He learns that Edward has a little brother, who is, according to him, the best person on this planet. He learns that they were both born in Resembool, but left when they were very young – Edward didn't say why, and Roy didn't ask. He learns that he's a biochemistry student and a giant science nerd in general, since he spent more time talking about macromolecules than about himself.

Roy barely understands a word of it – his last science class was almost two decades ago, holy shit – but it's still pleasant, hearing somebody talk with so much passion. Roy hasn't been anywhere near passionate for so long he forgot how it feels like.

 

*

 

They reach East City in less than an hour, and Edward is hungry. They stop at a grocery store, and when he joins Edward at the cash register to find him already paying for everything he's taken, Roy wonders how he is going to eat all that. Edward bought a lot of things, but at a cheap price – something Roy recognizes from the times he had no money and no job to earn some, which was, again, forever ago.

From where he is, two people further in the queue, Roy sees the cashier – a young girl, about Edward's age, maybe a little younger, with thick black hair and pink lipstick – putting a piece of paper that's definitely not a receipt in Ed's hand. Her cheeks are red – Edward, however, doesn't seem to flinch, at least not right away. He stares at her for a solid five seconds, then shoves the paper in his pocket, mutters a quick “eh, thanks, 'bye”, and gets out of the store.

“That,” Roy tells him once he joins him outside, “was awful.”

Edward quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Your reaction with that girl.”

“Oh.” As they start walking towards the car, Edward starts opening a box of triangle sandwiches, one of the many he bought. “Well, I wasn't interested.”

“You could at least have smiled.”

Edward shrugs. “What's the point, if I'm not interested?”

Roy doesn't answer to that, but he smiles.

A few minutes later, when they're back in the car, he sees Edward eyeing at what's inside his shopping bag, probably accidently. He just stops looking, then.

“You do whatever the fuck you want,” Edward says. “But as long as your hands are on that steering wheel, you better stay sober. 'm too young to die.”

A few sentences come to Roy's mind, like _don't worry, I only drink during the night when there's nobody around and the silence is too heavy for me not to want to disappear_ or _I was thinking about getting wasted and drive with the belt undone until I would crash into a tree and die, but you're here, so I figured I would reconsider my plans_. “Understood,” he says instead.

“Good,” Edward says. He bites in his sandwich – the second one of the second box he's bought. “Where are we sleepin'?” he asks, his mouth full of bread. He's got a crumb and some barbecue sauce on his chin.

“I was planning on stopping in a service area and sleeping in the car,” Roy says. “But we can look for a hotel here, or maybe a motel along the highway.”

“'m fine with the car,” Edward says. “Ain't got any money for a hotel anyway.” He takes the glove off of his right hand – the flesh one – to wipe the sauce off his face. “But I'm taking the backseat.”

Roy smiles. “Fine.” He takes his own box of sandwiches, stuck between the two bottles. “Do you want to get back on the road after? Or do you want to take a walk in the city?”

Edward shakes his head. “Got enough walking for today,” he says. “But you can, if you want. I got this big ass book I gotta study anyway, so.”

Roy opens the box. The bread looks like it's going to crumble as soon as he takes it in his hands. “Alright,” he says, and then, they eat in silence.

 

*

 

Roy wanders for about an hour or two before getting back to the car. The keys are in his pocket – it occurred to him, a few minutes after Edward offered for him to take a walk, that it could have been some kind of plan to steal it, and even if Edward really doesn't seem to be that kind of guy, Roy's a cop, and he's vigilant.

When he gets back, he can see Edward through the glass, still reading, his eyes focused on the pages and his brows furrowed in concentration, assimilating things that Roy wouldn't dare try to understand.

Roy opens the door, Edward looks up at him and closes his book. Roy feels like he's interrupted something beautiful and magic, and it's almost sad.

 

*

 

It starts to get really dark around nine. Roy decides it's wiser to stop driving from then, because the countryside roads don't have much lights or signs to rely on, and he doesn't want to end up with his car upside down in a field. He manages to find somewhere to stop thanks to the GPS – they're nearing Awrosut, a small town Roy passed by on his way to Giyoir. Not much to be seen there, but still more than corn fields and cows – most importantly, they have a service area, and right now, that's all they need.

Edward started reading again – _because it's nine, I ain't gonna fucking sleep at nine_ – and they don't talk. It's comfortable, somehow – Roy has never been embarrassed with the concept of silence, but it's something that comes with the intimacy. Social interactions are always punctuated with questions and answers and stories until he really gets to know the person, until it's not awkward anymore not to talk. Edward, somehow, doesn't make it awkward. He doesn't say a word when Roy gets out of the car to light himself a cigarette, doesn't flinch, even when he sees him taking one of the bottles from the backseat.

“Don't have too much,” he says when Roy gets back inside. “You're driving tomorrow.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Roy answers. He hopes Edward didn't hear the _this isn't the first time I drink the night before I have to drive, this is an habit, this is me, this is my life_ that hides behind his words. “Don't you have a driving license?”

“Fuck you,” Edward just says.

Roy falls asleep only a few minutes and the first third of the first bottle later. The last thing he sees is Edward's studying face in front of him, his gold hair and gold eyes enlightened by the yellow-ish light of the car torch.

_Peace_ , he thinks. _That looks like peace_ .

He gets taken by sleep before he can think about how scary this thought is.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, Roy looks at his phone – a reflex he got from having too many unexpected naps at work, too many  _shit what time is it what did I miss what did I fuck up again_ . 

It's one in the morning, and it's a miracle he even slept that much in a row, a blessing he fell asleep so early. It takes hours, usually, for him to drown after he closes his eyes, but he's been driving all day and he's taken a dose of alcohol he didn't allow himself to have the day before – because it seemed unfaithful to Gracia, somehow, to do such a think in her house,  _their_ house, when she had sent him there for him to get better – so, that must help.

It's one in the morning, and Edward's still reading. He barely has moved, except from the fact he apparently changed the book he was reading – the new one says  _The Science of Metabolism : volume II_ . 

“Weren't you going to take the backseat?” Roy asks once he's sufficiently woken up to formulate a sentence – which doesn't take long, because years in the army make you fast, they make you _ready_. Roy often wishes he would take more time to wake up. It would be more common, more – _normal_.

“Your backseat doesn't have light,” Edward simply answers as he turns one page, not taking his eyes off of the book.

“I meant to sleep.”

“Can't sleep.”

Roy knows this too well, so he doesn't say a thing. A shiver passes through his body, and he notices the goosebumps on his bare arms. He bends over his seat and takes his coat he had left in the back.

It takes him a while to fall asleep, this time.

 

*

 

When he wakes up, it's two in the morning.

When he wakes up, Edward is still awake.

“Can't sleep,” Edward says again before Roy can formulate anything.

“You want to – go for a walk outside?” he says this time. “Take some fresh air.”

And this time, Edward's eyes go on him. “Yeah,” he says after a while of thinking up the question. “That could be nice, yeah.”

Before they get out of the car, Edward asks him to take a bottle with him.

“Makes it funnier,” he says, and Roy has no idea what _it_ is, but he obliges and takes the bottle. “I'm still watching you,” Edward says. “You're driving.” He takes the bottle in his hand.

“So you have the right to drink as much as you want, but I can't?” Roy says in a pitying tone. “That's unfair.”

“Life isn't fair, Mustang.”

They step out of the car, Edward with his gloves on his hands and his brown coat on his back, Roy with a scarf half done around his neck and months, years, a lifetime of loneliness on his shoulders.

 

*

 

“Tell me 'bout you,” Edward says. The bottle is between them – they barely have made some distance from where the car is, but it's enough to be away from all the aggressive lights. There's miles of grass in front of them – the night paints it a dark blue. “I told you about me. You didn't say much about yourself.”

A whole lifetime crosses Roy's mind. “You didn't either,” he says. “I barely know anything.”

“You still do know _some_ things,” Edward says, “which is better than nothing.” The kid can really knock it back, for someone his size, and age – Roy had his first drink when he was fourteen, but he spent a long time where he'd get piss drunk after two drinks, and Maes would laugh at him, call him a light weight. Later, he would show up at Roy's house with a bottle and find that Roy had already gotten started – he would put a hand on Roy's shoulder and give him the kindest fucking smile and tell him “Roy boy, you have to keep that promise and take care of yourself, ok?”, and then hug him and crash on his couch. 

“Come on,” Edward says. “Tell me 'bout you.”

Roy takes a sip. “There's not much to say.” He can see Edward's gaze on him in the dark – if he told him he didn't want to talk about himself, Edward wouldn't insist. “I used to be in the military,” he says instead. “But I'm in the police, now.”

“Bitch, please,” Edward says. “What were you doing in Giyoir? Following the tracks of a dangerous serial killer in the horrific eastern countryside?”

If he told him he didn't want to say  _anything_ , Edward wouldn't insist. He doesn't do that. “My best friend died,” he says.  _Three days ago, his wife and their daughter walked into my house because we were supposed to have dinner, and they found me asleep on my couch with one empty bottle at my side. I could hear the girl's “wake up, uncle Roy”, but it took me forever to open my eyes and Gracia was already calling an ambulance_ . “He was killed a month ago. The guy's in prison now.”  _It was almost easy when I could rely on hate and revenge, when I had someone to go after, someone to catch. Now I have nothing to go after, no friend to follow and no killer to try to kill, just me – “_ They put me on leave.”

“Shit,” Edward says, and then nothing else.

“Shit,” Roy says.

They spend a fair amount of time not talking – and this time, it's awkward, this time, it's not peace, but it's not Edward's fault if Roy's brain is a fucking battlefield.

“I'm sorry,” Edward says after a while. “Shouldn't have asked you – to talk.”

“I wouldn't if I didn't want to,” Roy says. And then : “He was a very good man.”

Edward gives a smile to the sky – a weak, sad one, but still. Roy doesn't see it, but he somehow manages to guess. “I'm sure he was.”

Roy closes his eyes. The wind isn't violent, but it isn't kind – it brushes his faces in cold strokes, freezes his fingers on the bottleneck, sneaks under his coat. When he looks up, he doesn't see stars.

It's a really poor excuse for a month of April.

“Tell me about your brother,” he tells Edward. “From the few things you've told me about, it seems like he's a good man, too.”

Edward huffs. “He's good, yes, but I don't know if he's a _man_ ,” Edward says. “I don't know if he'll ever be to me, because he's my little brother and stuff – and it's kinda dumb, because we're only one year apart, and I like to tell myself that I practically raised him, but it's the opposite.” He takes the bottle from his hands and drinks. “I don't know how he did it, to be honest. Bearing with me. I'm a fucking pain in the ass, honestly – everyone who's known me for long enough got fed up at some point.” Roy doesn't say that he could get used to him hanging around, that he wouldn't get fed up – he's tempted to, but who is he to say such things?

“Everyone has their bad moments,” he says. “There will always be someone that doesn't like you. That doesn't mean that you're not likeable.”

Edward shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.” When Roy wants to take the bottle back, he doesn't let him. “I don't think anyone can hate Alphonse, though – those who know us both don't even understand how it is possible that we're related, because we look so much alike when you compare our faces, but he's nothing like me, and I'm nothing like him. He's good with people – he knows how to talk, which words to chose, he knows how their feelings work once he's known them for the right amount of time. And I just – fuck up with people, I guess. Nothing bad, really. Just – not understanding really irritates the fuck out of me, and it's so frustrating, and I just – shout at people, most of the time. I don't know how he does that, Alphonse – the whole talking thing.”

“I'm sure you have other qualities,” Roy says.

“Oh, I know. I've always been a faster learner than him. I kinda pride myself on that – he's better at literally everything else, the little shit.”

Maes was good with people, too – he was _warm_ and generous with everyone he would ever met where Roy would take ages to open up. It had taken ages with him, and it had taken ages with Riza. To this day, she's still one of the only people he trusts enough to talk about _things –_ Chris doesn't count, she's practically his mother – or to call her in the middle of the night, drunk and in tears because he'd had a nightmare or because he'd miss his dead best friend too much.

It's a good thing him and Edward will probably part without an intention to keep in touch, because he's a fucking pain in the ass, too – he'd rot Edward, at some point, if they happened to stay friends, because no matter what he says about being hard to deal with, Edward can't be worse than _this_.

“Fuck,” Edward suddenly says. “Is it raining?”

Roy looks up. He feels water hitting his face. “It looks like it.”

It goes really fast from there – it goes from a few drops to a pouring rain in a few seconds, and they barely have time to understand they're going to get soaked if they don't move quickly.

They still get soaked, though, because the few feet they have to cross to reach the car are enough for the rain to catch them, and when they get inside the vehicle and Roy turns on the car light on, Edward is taking his shirt jacket off on the backseat, his golden hair dripping on his legs. “Shit,” he says. “I was planning on using that as a blanket.”

“I have a suitcase full of clean clothes in the trunk, but I'm afraid there's no blanket,” Roy says. “That said, if you need something, I can get you something.”

“What a gentleman you are, Mustang,” Edward says, a smug grin on his face. “Nah, don't worry. This thing's gonna dry at some point anyway, I'll just take it if I wake up cold later.”

Roy takes off his own coat, too. He can't use it as a blanked either, but at least, he's got his scarf as a cushion. “As you wish.”

“Think I'm gonna sleep,” Edward says. “I'm kinda getting tired.”

Roy looks at the car clock. “It's three in the morning.”

Edward doesn't look surprised. “Ah. Must be that, then.” Roy sees him change position in the mirror, lying down with his knees close to his chest. He still hasn't taken his gloves off, and Roy wonders – a stupid thought – how Edward hides his arm in the summer, if he even hides it. “'Night, Mustang,” Edward says.

Roy stops looking. “Good night, Edward.”

 

*

 

When he wakes up, it's still pouring outside, and the rain hits the roof so violently it sounds like an earthquake.

The end of the world wouldn't wake Edward up, apparently, because he's still sleeping like a log. His hair is untied, his eyes closed, his mouth half-open – he looks so peaceful it's almost unreal, and Roy always hated rain, but just this once, it seems to make the whole thing even more beautiful.

Roy closes his eyes.

He's too old for this.

 

*

 

By the time Edward wakes up, the rain has stopped, and they decide it would be wise to start driving again if they want to reach Central tonight.

They stop a few miles later, though, because Edward needs some coffee, and food – _and also to change, holy shit, I stink, can I borrow you some clothes_? “There,” Edward says, shoving a cent cenz coin in Roy's hand. “I take it black.” He searches for something in the pocket of his jacket, and when he gets his hand out of it, he just hands Roy more coins. “Also a waffle. Or two.”

“It's noon,” Roy says.

Edward shrugs. “Then a waffle and a sandwich.” And he disappears in the bathrooms.

Roy takes his order – the black coffee, a heavy sugar-coated waffle and the sandwich he thinks is the best – and for himself, a cappuccino and a salad. The clerk, a young woman with dark red hair and aqua blue nailpolish, gives him a shy smile when she hands him his order on a plastic tray. He takes a seat at one of the small tables, sipping in his plastic cup as he checks his phone. Gracia is asking him if he's doing fine, Riza is asking him if he burned anything yet. He answers yes to the first, no to the second – Gracia's going to take some time to see his text, but Riza already sends him something else in the two minutes. Simple and concise, as she always is – _take care of yourself, you can talk to me if you need to_. He leaves it here.

“You're freakishly tall,” he hears a voice say, and he hadn't realized Edward was back. And it's true that his shirt looks a little bit large on him – when Roy looks down, he even sees that Edward has rolled the ends of each leg of the pant up.

“That's not something I've been told before,” Roy says – he hadn't stopped to look at it before, but it is a fact that Edward is quite the opposite of tall. “Except maybe by a four years old little girl I know. Otherwise, I guess I'm pretty average.”

Edward quirks an eyebrow. “Are you calling me small?”

Roy smiles. “I didn't say that,” he says. “Maybe just – slightly smaller than most people are.”

Edward gives him the finger, but he can see the grin behind. He takes place on the seat next to him and sips in his coffee. “Shit,” he says. “That tastes gross.”

“That's why I always take it with milk in places that aren't especially coffeeshops,” Roy says, already at the end of his own cup. “The taste of these coffees isn't really satisfying by itself.”

“Milk makes it even more gross. I'd rather drink _liters_ of this than have a single fucking drop of milk.”

“Ah. That explains a lot.” Edward looks at him suspiciously. “Milk is supposed to make you grow tall.”

This time, Edward shows him both fingers of both hands, and Roy laughs – he deserved it anyway.

 

*

 

“She _was_ staring at you,” Edward says, moving his hands.

“She wasn't,” Roy contests as he opens the door and sits on the driver's seat.

“You told me you didn't even look at her after ordering our stuff,” Edward says. “Which means you don't know if she was checking you out or not. ”

If the red-haired seller really was looking at him, she was probably just wondering what was a twenty-something years old doing with a man too old to be a friend, but not enough to be his father. Roy wonders if she got the wrong idea, wonders what they look like – three minutes ago, in the restaurant part of this little gas station, with Edward sitting too close to him, laughing at his jokes and showing him videos on his phone, anybody really could have gotten the wrong idea.

“That's a brilliant deduction, Edward,” Roy says as he puts the key in the ignition.

“Anyway, I'm right – she was fucking devouring you with her eyes, I'm surprised she didn't just jump over the counter and sit in your lap.”

Roy starts the car. “What a poet you are –” But the car doesn't start. “What the hell –”

“What's wrong?”

“It doesn't work.”

Edward stares at him, blankly. “What do you mean, it doesn't work?”

“I mean the car won't start.”

“Why is that?”

“If I knew that, I would already be looking for a solution.”

Edward is frowning, looking at everything on the dashboard that could give him a hint. “Does it have enough gas?”

Roy sighs. “Of _course_ it does have enough gas –”

“Hey, don't sass me, Mustang,” Edward cuts him. “I'm just trying to figure out what the fuck's wrong.”

Roy tries to start the car again, but it's the same thing over and over. When it gets obvious he isn't going to get any further with this, he opens the door and gets out of the car after muttering a quiet _shit_. He can hear the other door banging as he's lighting himself a cigarette – and God, he hadn't smoked outside of social gatherings for years until Maes died, but this is becoming a habit again.

“What do we do?” Edward asks from the other side of the car.

“I don't know,” Roy says. “I'm not very skilled with cars, unfortunately. I'm afraid I'll have to call someone.”

And then, something seems to lighten in Edward's eyes. “Wait –” he fumbles with the pocket of his jacket a moment before finding his phone. “I can call Winry.” Roy just stares at him for a few seconds before Edward notices and proceeds. “She's my mechanic – I was at her place in Resembool yesterday – that's why I was here and shit. She's a fucking genius with cars, and everything that's mechanical, by the way. She might know how to help us.”

There's a moment where Roy just keeps looking at him – amazed, perhaps – before he speaks again. “Alright,” he says.

Edward is already holding his phone against his ear, and Roy can hear the faint _beep_ s ringing before someone picks up.

“Hey Win – Yeah, it's me,” Edward says. He still moves his hands a lot, even on the phone. “No, I didn't already break it, damn – Listen, I'm in a guy's car and – yeah, I know, I just didn't want to take the train – yeah, don't worry, he's fine, he's not gonna murder me – _God_ , Win, you're not my fucking mom, would you just listen –” There's a few seconds where Roy only hears the voice on the other side of the line, and he can't understand what Winry's saying, but it seems like she's angry, because he sure _hears_ it, and Ed is just looking at him, rolling his eyes, trying not to sigh too loudly. “I told you – I wanted to walk, I got tired, this guy took me in his car, which brings me to why I'm calling you – the damn car won't start. Yes, of course there's fucking gas –” Edward is doing going and comings now. “No, I mean – can't you just tell me what to do? Yeah, I know, but we could check and find out, maybe? Win, there's no need to –” He's pinching the bridge of his nose. “Near Awrosut, I think – is that it, Roy?”

“Yes – only a couple of miles ahead, I believe.”

“Yeah, right – there's a Shell gas station not far, we're there.” He pauses. “Yeah, of course it's ok, I mean – Roy, do you have to be in Central tonight especially?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Great. I mean, I told you, you don't even have to come, we can call someone else –” Edward stops talking before taking his phone off of his ear. He looks at it, then at Roy. “She hung up,” he says. “She just hung up. I can't believe she hung up.”

In the meantime, another person has stopped on the little parking lot. The girl who gets out of the car brings a little bit of color in the grey, desert place – she's got her bangs dyed a dark pink and a hoodie of a teal color over her white dress. When she opens the door of her car, a small, long eared and short legged dog gets out – a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, if Roy remembers well from the one time Riza told him about these dogs. The only knowledge he has about dogs comes from her – she would probably hit him on the back of his head if his assumption was fake.

“She said she was gonna come here,” Edward says, bringing Roy's attention back on him. “Tomorrow. Apparently, she's taking her girlfriend somewhere in East City tonight and she's got some friends she can sleep at, so it won't be too hard to get there tomorrow. She'll text me for us to know when to meet.” He makes quotation marks with his fingers. “You're lucky I love my girl enough to take her to fancy places in town, because I sure don't value your life enough to make miles for your ass, why didn't you take the damn train in the first place, blah, blah, blah.”

“Couldn't she just tell you what could be wrong? I mean, I really could have called a mechanic from Awrosut. It would have been less trouble.”

Edward shrugs. “That's what I told her, but she said she 'doesn't trust me to put my dirty hands on a beautiful piece of work, or anyone else, actually', and she 'doesn't want to have to make an even longer trip when we find out we've been taken advantage of by an amateur charlatan who fucked the car up even more'. So yeah, she's coming, apparently – unless you prefer calling someone else, which I'd understand, since we're gonna have to sleep in the car again.”

Roy shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I don't mind it. Plus, I trust your friend to do excellent work.”

“You trust people way too easily, Mustang.”

He doesn't know how much he's wrong. “I mean, I took you in my car, so I guess you're right – but you came with me, so that statement applies to you too.”

Edward brushes his bangs back with his hand, but they fall back over his face instantly. He smiles. “Guess you're right.”

“Excuse me?” A small voice says. Both Roy and Ed turns their head at the same time.

It's the lady with the dog – there wasn't a lot of choice anyway, since they're the only people standing on the parking lot. The girl has bright eyes and a small Letoïst sun hanging around her neck. “Yeah?” Edward says.

“I heard you talking,” the girl says. “Overheard, actually – it wasn't my intention to spy on you. Anyway, you said you had to sleep in your car tonight, and I just wanted to say – if you need a place to stay...” She points at her car. “My fiancé and I have a house in Awrosut, and it's barely fifteen minutes from here, so it wouldn't be a problem to come back here to join your friend tomorrow.”

There's a moment where neither of them says anything, and Roy is about to, because the girl looks embarrassed, but Edward precedes him. “You're serious?”

She looks up, and Roy looks down – her dog is sniffing his shoes. “Popper, come here, don't annoy mister,” she says. “I'm sorry. She's very curious.”

“It's alright,” Roy says, and he squats to pet the dog's head – God, Riza would love her.

“And yes,” the girl says. “I'm serious. I mean, we have enough place for two more people at our table and a spare bedroom – it would be a shame to let you sleep here, on this parking lot, when we have a better opportunity to offer, right?”

“We don't want to bother you,” Roy says as he stands up. “Although it's really kind of you to offer.”

“Oh, it doesn't bother me,” the girl says, waving her hands in front of her. “Or my fiancé, actually. He's always happy to have someone at home. He's a very good cook – he used to work in a restaurant, and he loves making for people. I'm sure he'll be glad.”

Roy is ready to object, again, because Chris raised him to be polite – _too damn polite for your own good_ , according to Maes – but again, Edward is faster. “Holy mother of God,” he says, joining his hands in an exaggerated move and looking up to the skies. “You're a fucking _saint_ , miss – what's your name?”

“I'm Rose.”

“Rose, you're an _angel_.”

Rose's fidgeting, looking at her fingers. “There's no need to exaggerate,” she says.

Edward, on the other hand, is way too enthusiastic about this. “No, really,” he says. “I'm Edward, by the way, and this is Roy,” he says, pointing at him. “You're amazing – Roy and I are very grateful. Aren't we, Roy?”

“Sure,” Roy says, because the look Edward gives him is way too persuasive for him to say no, and he is a weak man.

“Great,” Rose says. “I just stopped so Popper could enjoy some fresh air before we arrive home. I'm just gonna check if she needs to do her thing, and then we can go, if it's alright for you?”

“It's great,” Edward says. “Really. Take your time. Thank you, for real – thank you.” He watches Rose walking towards the grassy part of the land, mostly lead by Popper pulling on her leash. From the corner of his eye, he can see Edward moving towards him from his side of the car, and when he stops next to Roy, he leans over the car, half-sitting on the hood. “Are you trying to look all cold and unreachable to impress girls or are you really unable of doing something as basic as a smile?”

“You've already seen me smile,” Roy says. His cigarette apparently blew out in the middle of the conversation, which is a good thing – it would have been a waste. “And I'm not trying to impress anyone – haven't you heard a word she said besides of _food_? The lady is engaged.”

Edward shrugs. “Dunno,” he says. “Maybe you're into taken girls.”

“I am not. God, are you going to try to set me up with every female individual we meet?”

“I'm not trying to set you up with anyone, I'm just making a statement.”

The second he lights his cigarette back, the taste of tobacco disgusts him – but again, he's not one to waste, so he quietly takes a drag. “Oh, and what is it?” He says.

“That you're shady as fuck,” Edward says, “and that it must work well with women.”

“I'm not _shady_.”

Edward turns his eyes on him, and the look he gives him is unconvinced, to say the least. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “The long black coat, the cigarettes and the posh manners don't make you look shady at all.”

Roy laughs – it's small and brief, but it's here, and he almost chokes on smoke. He isn't looking at Edward, but he can see the smile.

“Ah,” Edward says. “That's better.”

“Told you I could smile,” Roy says.

Edward stretches his arms. “I know you can,” he says.

 

*

 

There's another Letoïst sun hanging from the rear-view mirror, and Roy starts to think he should tell Edward stop saying things like _fucking God,_ as it might come out as offensive, but Rose doesn't seem to mind very much, since the most she shows when Edward could be considered as inappropriate is a shy smile.

“Your dog is adorable,” Edward says from the backseat. Popper is laying next to him on an old, covered in white and brown hair green blanket that has been installed there to keep the seats safe. She's resting her head on Edward's thigh, and Edward is gently scratching the top of her head – if dogs could purr, Popper would, judging by the delighted look on her face.

“I know right?” Rose says enthusiastically. “We got her recently from the shelter I work at, in East City. I had wanted to take a dog for a while, but Cain wanted to wait we had a bigger home.”

“She was in a shelter?” Edward says. “What kind of moron would want to abandon you, huh?”

“You work in East City?” Roy asks. “It must be annoying to live so far away from your place of work. Why don't you move there?”

“We used to live in East City, actually,” Rose says. “But we had a small apartment, and we wanted a house to – maybe start a family, someday, you know? And East City isn't the cheapest place to live when you want something big.” She takes the next turn. “And I kind of like the charm of smaller cities,” she says. “It's quieter.” Roy would say he agrees, but one day and one night of _quiet_ drove him crazy, and he isn't sure he would have survived so long if he wasn't constantly surrounded with noise.

“You wanna have kids?” Edward asks. “I mean, isn't a dog enough already?”

Rose laughs. “It could be, I guess,” she says as she takes another turn – the roads are beginning to get more tortuous as they seem to approach the city. “But – I don't know. It's always something I wanted. To raise a child. I mean – isn't it wonderful to work for another being's happiness?”

Roy can see the lights starting to appear, a little bit further.

“Yeah,” Edward says. “I guess it is.”

Roy allows himself to have a look in the mirror, and he sees something sad in Edward's smile.

 

*

 

Rose's fiancé, like she said, seems very to have people home. “It's a good thing she was passing by when you needed help,” he says. He's a tall, slim man – considerably taller than Roy, he looks like a giant next to Rose, and even more compared to Edward. “God is on your side.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Rose asks as she detaches the leash from Popper's collar. “Or something else. You can use the shower, if you need – feel free to take a nap if you need to.”

“I really could enjoy a shower, actually,” Edward says. “Mind if I go first, Mustang?”

“Go ahead,” Roy says.

“I'm going to show you the bathroom,” Cain says. “And the room. Give me your bag.”

As Roy absently watches Edward following him up the stairs, a shiver goes across his spine. “You'll take some tea, Roy?” Rose asks.

He turns around. “A tea would be lovely,” he says, and Rose smiles.

For one second, she looks like Gracia.

 

*

 

“So, what were you guys doing over here?” Cain asks during dinner. Rose was right – he's a very good cook, so much that Edward has to physically hold himself for engulfing everything in his plate at once before asking for more. As much as the taste of well seasoned roasted beef and vegetables is enjoyable, especially after three days of feeding himself with tasteless sandwiches or even the prepared dish he had taken with himself at the Hughes' residence in case he would have been too lazy to do groceries the first day, Roy is more measured, and when Edward has already emptied a good half of his plate, he seems to barely have started.

“We were heading back to Central,” Roy says.

“Ah,” Cain says, interested. “How's the capital? I've been a few times, but never enough to really get to know it, you know.”

“It's very – noisy. Very agitated. There's always something happening somewhere – it gets you tired, sometimes, but I guess the good thing is you never get bored.”

“Of course it gets you tired,” Edward says, his mouth still full of meat before he realizes he's got to swallow before talking. “You're a damn cop. Not the most relaxing job ever – especially in Central.”

Cain's eyes widen, and so do Rose's. “You're in the police?” She asks.

“Yes, I am,” Roy says. “Not on duty, though, so there's no need to worry.”

Cain seems puts his hands up with a large smile. “Don't worry, sir,” he says. “It's not like we had anything to hide anyway. We're respectable citizens.”

“I wouldn't doubt it a second,” Roy says after taking a bite in his plate. “People with such a great sense of hospitality –” he points at Rose, “and incredible cooking skills –” he points at Cain. “Can only be good people. Unless you're planning on tying us up with rope before throwing us in your basement in order to cut our bodies in little pieces that you'll keep in the freezer for your next guests.”

“I don't know if it's occupational hazard or some shit, but you have a terrifying imagination,” Edward says, mildly horrified, as Cain lets out a loud laugh. Rose's is quieter, but she's laughing too.

“It probably is,” Roy says with a grin as he cuts himself another piece of meat.

“Speaking of occupational hazard,” Cain says, “what do you do in life, Edward?”

“I'm a scientist,” Edward says.

“He's lying,” Roy says. “He's a student.”

“I'm a _studying_ scientist, then, you annoying bastard.”

“That's interesting,” Cain says. “What led you onto that path?”

Edward spaces out for about one or two seconds, which Roy notices anyway, and he shrugs. “I wanted to understand things,” he says. “How life works. How it is that we're healthy, or not, and what can be done to fix it.”

“So you're willing to work in research?” Rose asks.

“Yeah,” Edward says. “Medicine can't help everyone. I hope I can find some ways to improve that.”

“That's very ambitious,” Cain says as he puts his glass down. “And idealistic.”

“I know –”

“But remarkably admirable.”

Edward smiles, and he's bright – there's something about him that hits Roy in the guts all the time, when he less expects it. Maybe it's the light in his eyes, the way he moves his hands when he talks, the fact that he says whatever comes to his mind whenever he wants to. And it's hard to tell he's hiding something, but he is – a secret the size of an arm, or two, for what Roy knows, under Roy's too big grey shirt and a glove he hasn't taken off. But he's bright, so bright – there might be a hundred secrets under this light that nobody would ever know.

As he explains something to Rose and Cain, Edward catches Roy looking at it. He doesn't stop talking, doesn't seem bothered. But Roy looks away.

He's too old for this.

 

*

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Edward says as they enter the room. “That was fantastic.”

Roy turns the lights on. The guest room, like the rest of the house, looks cozy and warm, with the wooden furniture and the dark green walls – there's even a set of small cacti on the windowsill and a painting of a forest above the bed. It's heartwarming, how much effort Rose and Cain have put to make this house feel like _home,_ even for the room their friends – or strangers – sleep in. “What? The food or them?”

“Both. Goddamn, I'm gonna remember this roasted beef for weeks – Al really has to learn how to do this. I'm gonna ask Cain for tips.”

“Why wouldn't try to do it yourself?”

“What, cooking?” Apparently, it's the funniest joke in the world. “Man, I'm a fucking disaster,” Edward says as he lets himself fall on the bed, practically sprawling on it. “I mean, I tried – several times, because that's a thing that you've gotta learn, but at some point, I just gave it up. I almost burned down Winry's kitchen, once. She never let me approach an oven ever again. That's another thing Al is better for than me.”

“You're too harsh on yourself.”

“One day, I'm gonna cook for you and you're gonna believe me.”

Roy is about to say something, but he holds himself. He wonders if, once they reach Central, he will ever see Edward again. There would be no reason to – they met one day ago, shared a bottle under a cloudy sky, slept in a car, and that doesn't mean anything. That doesn't mean undying friendship, that doesn't even mean acquaintances. Once they reach Central, they will probably part – Ed will go back to his studies, Roy will go back to his job, and maybe Edward will tell his brother about the guy that took him in his car for no other reason that he couldn't stand staying alone, but in a year, he will have forgotten about Roy's car, about Roy's name, about Roy's face.

Roy takes his shirt and his jeans off, puts on a t-shirt and some sweat pants, because it's still not so warm in spite of the heating – he doesn't know the time, doesn't know if he's even going to be able to sleep, but he's spent the last night sitting on the front seat of his car, and the perspective of _laying on a bed_ is too appealing not to do it already.

“Would you please move?” he tells Edward, still splaying on the bed, and it's impressive that such a small body can take up so much place.

And Edward literally – rolls on the bed, so he's still laying down, but at the end of it. “Ate too much,” he says under Roy's skeptical eyes. “Can't move.”

“Roll to the other side of the bed, at least,” Roy says. “So we can have proper sleep, and you can digest in order to be able to move tomorrow.”

Edward eventually obliges with a loud sigh and manages to drag himself on the left side of the mattress, and Roy installs himself on his own side. The bed sheets smell like lavender fabric softener. When he checks his phone, Riza has sent him two texts. One is a picture of Hayate sleeping on her knees, the other says _“Look at this cutie. Maybe you should consider taking a dog._ ”

“Roy,” Edward says.

“Yes?”

“Before I – take off my clothes and shit –” He pauses, and Roy waits. “I have – automail limbs. One arm and a leg.”

Roy waits some more before he realizes it's his turn to talk. “Alright,” he says.

“Figured I should warn you.” Edward slowly, slowly stands up. “It can be surprising. 's kinda ugly.” He watches Edward strip off a little too long before he realizes it's inappropriate, even if Edward can't see it. But he's got the time to recall the sharp lines of his back, the damaged skin where the metal arm begins, from the base of his neck to the bottom of his shoulder blade. He's got the time to see the leg, too, the automail starting at mid-thigh, he's got the time to see all the other scars on Ed's back, on his flesh arm, on his flesh leg.

When Edward sits back on the bed, he's got his hair untied and a camp t-shirt on. He probably inherited the shirt from somewhere, or bought it in a thrift shop, because it says _1991_ in big letters, and it's very questionable that he could have attended a camp without even being born.

“Can I ask a question?” Roy says.

“Yes,” Edward says, quick and bitter.

“Do you always – hide it?”

Edward stretches. “When I can, yes,” he says. “I don't wear long sleeves and gloves in the summer, if that's what you're asking. But if I can avoid having them showing, it's – preferable.”

“Lots of people have automail. I don't find it that unusual.”

“Yeah, I know. But people still stare, you know? I mean – I was eleven when I lost my arm and leg. It gets better now, because I'm older, but at the time, I would always overhear their theories about what could have happened to me. Now, at least, some people dare to ask it in my face – it's still unpleasant, but at least, they aren't treating me like a poor kid.” Edward slides himself under the covers. “Thank you, by the way. For not asking.”

“I actually asked you something,” Roy says.

“Yeah,” Edward says. “But you didn't ask how. And maybe you wanted to, but you didn't. And I will ask you not to.”

“I wasn't planning on it.”

“Cool.” Edward's fingers unroll with a metallic sound – it's not something you can hear if you don't pay attention, not something you'd ever think about when he has the gloves on. “I'm gonna sleep. Or try, at least. I have nothing against your car, but your backseat isn't the most comfortable place to sleep on.”

Roy grins. “At least I left you the backseat, you brat.”

“There's a saying about respecting the youngers.”

“Isn't it about respecting your _elders_?”

Edward shrugs. “Whatever. Most sayings are bullshit anyway.” He moves under the sheets, and Roy sees a glimpse reflecting from the metal leg before it disappears. “Can you turn the light off?” Edward asks as he shifts and hugs the pillow to bury his face in it. “Y're closer to the switch.”

Roy sighs, but he can't say no to that voice.

 

*

 

It's only later that the realization that he hasn't had any drink besides the single glass of wine Cain offered them. No refilling, no bottle emptying – and he _craves_ it, now, and it's odd how his weak human brain can perfectly do without it until he _thinks_ about it, or until he thinks about anything, because it's past midnight, and past midnight he thinks about Ishval and war and blood, he thinks about Maes, he thinks about death, he thinks about jumping off roofs and _fuck_ , he needs a drink –

And he must be falling asleep, because his brain starts doing things on his own – he hears Riza's voice in his ears, almost feels his coat she always puts on his shoulders when he falls asleep on his desk, on her couch, anywhere. “You need to rest, Sir,” she always says as she takes the empty bottle away. “You need to try,” she always says, and he promises her he will, but it's been a while he doesn't try anymore, it's been a while that he lies, to himself, to Riza, to Maes –

“Come on, bud,” Maes would say after a long day of work. “Come have a drink with me,” he would say, and he would put his arm around Roy's shoulders, and Roy would _flinch_ – “At least, I know you're not drinking alone, if you do. And it will be the occasion to meet some ladies – God, Roy, how long is it been that I haven't seen you with someone? What a shame, with a handsome face like yours.” And Roy would want to say something about what that handsome face did between his thighs, years ago, before Maes met Gracia, before they got fucking _married –_ but he'd never say anything like that, because it wasn't Maes' fault if he was too much of a fool to bury these memories away and never find them again, too much of an idiot to keep himself from falling in love with his best friend, too much of a coward to even tell him about it. He would never have told him, he would – and he will take this in his grave, will keep it a secret until he dies, except Maes died before him and _you had no right to die, you asshole – you had no right to leave your wife and your daughter and me – who tell you you had a choice? You had to stay alive, you had to stay, because how the hell am I gonna live, now, how the hell am I gonna survive without your stupid smile and your stupid jokes and your stupid you, you need to be there, you can't go away and take all the light with you, come b ack, fuck, please, come back –_

Something cold touches his foot, and Roy wakes up.

“Shit,” he hears.

“'s alright,” he says after two seconds of adjustment. He's in a room – a guest room. He's with Edward. They're in Awrosut.

“You're awake?” Edward asks.

Roy's on his side, turning his back at him, and he can't see his face, but he hears the surprise. “Looks like I am,” he says.

“Did I wake you up? Shit, I'm sorry –”

“Edward.” And again, Roy doesn't see him, but he feels eyes on his back. Maybe he's hallucinating all of this. “It's alright. I wasn't having a very good sleep anyway.”

Edward doesn't say anything for a few seconds. And then, “Oh.” Roy hears him falling back on the mattress – he didn't register when he had sit down. “Want to talk about it?”

“There's nothing much to talk about –” except the last months have been a wreck, hell, his _whole life_ has been a wreck, but he's not going to say that – “I just – my mind slips off into less pleasant places when I don't have total control over it.”

“Yeah,” Edward says. “I get this, too.”

“Guess everyone does.”

“Yeah.”

He hears Edward shift, getting himself ready to sleep – was he already awake before they touched, or is he like him, waking up at every single move he feels, every single sound he hears? Is he going to fall asleep the second he wants to, or does his mind wander in scary places, too? The thought could be comforting – knowing that they're alike, but Edward is – what, twenty? He can't be like that, at twenty, he can't be so tired and desperate and broken. It would be way too damn sad.

“Mustang?”

It's funny that Edward talks to him like they're old friends but still calls him by his last name. He's right, after all – they've known each other for two days. “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

There must not be a lot of people who think of this particular sentence as safe or reassuring, although right now, Roy can't remember the times where it was followed by something bad. When it had been Riza, it was “are you alright, Sir?”. When it had been Havoc, it was “do you have a girlfriend, Sir?”. When it had been Maes, it was “Can I suck your dick?” – although this one wasn't _bad_ , but Roy's little young heart had flipped, and it had taken him almost a minute to answer, because he was too afraid to choke on his own spit to do it before.

“Yes,” Roy says.

Edward moves, again, and Roy is pretty sure he's facing his back. “Can you kiss me?”

His heart doesn't miss a beat, his breath doesn't quicken, his jaw doesn't tighten, but his mind stops for a moment. When it snaps back to reality, it's only because he hears Edward moving.

“Shit, sorry,” Edward says. “Nevermind. Forget what I said.”

Roy doesn't. What he does is turn around, draw himself nearer of Edward's body, and do what he's said. Before he closes his eyes to lose himself in the moment, he tries to register the picture – Edward, laying on the bed, bathed in moonlight, his hair splayed on white sheets, his eyes demanding and honest and _trusting_. Then it's nothing but feeling – the coldness of Edward's metal fingers on his shoulder, the warmth where the flesh ones meet the nape of his neck, the soft, chapped lips kissing hard, hungry, dirty.

Roy's too old for this.

“Fuck,” Edward sighs when he adjusts himself in a way that makes Roy's thigh brush against his groin. “Yes,” he lifts himself, and Roy presses his leg more, “ _yes,_ shit, like this –”

Roy slides a hand to his side, hesitantly grips his hip to bring him closer, and Edward is everything but hesitant – he tightens his fingers around Roy's neck, brings him down everytime he stops kissing, and when Roy asks him “Is this alright?”, Edward takes his hand and pushes it between his legs. Roy bites his lip in surprise, and then he just does it because he wants to, palming Edward's dick through his briefs, drinking the quiet sounds that escape his mouth – they might get a little louder when he slides his hand under the fabric, but Edward knows what he's doing, and he shuts himself off before it gets audible for anyone outside the room. It's a shame, Roy thinks, that they have to do this quietly. If they were somewhere else, somewhere that wouldn't be in the guest room of a too-kind-for-this-world couple, he would have done everything to make Edward shout until his throat would be hoarse, he would turn all the whispered _fuck, shit, yes_ into screams, because Edward's voice must sound so good when he's so wrecked.

What follows, though, is enough of a preview for Roy to lose his mind, so he'll settle for what he has.

“Fuck me,” Edward groans against his lips, his tone low, so low – “Fuck me, fuck –”

Roy tries to keep himself together, to speak like he isn't going to melt at any moment. “I don't have –”

“In my backpack,” Edward cuts him. “Front pocket. There are condoms and lube.”

Roy doesn't even take the time to question the fact that Edward is carrying these things on a roadtrip in the countryside – he gets up and reaches the backpack in the dark, fumbling for a few seconds with the zippers until he can bury his hand in the pocket and find what he's looking for. When he comes back to the bed, Edward has taken his shirt off, and he's working on getting out of his briefs.

“Not losing any time, I see,” Roy says as he sits down.

“Shut the fuck up and get out of your clothes,” Edward says, and he takes what's in Roy's hand to put in on the bed, getting on his knees so he can grab Roy's shirt and lift it until it gets past his head, and then his hands are getting under the hem of his underwear, sliding them down at the same time as his jogger pants, and the fabric brushes against his cock and Roy _sighs_ –

Edward brings them down, when they're both naked and bare, and when his flesh hand wanders on Roy's side, the fingers graze the old scar that goes from his stomach to his ribs, Roy almost, _almost_ jumps – but this is Edward, with him, Edward who he's met less than forty-eight hours ago, who he barely knows everything about, but who has more scars than everyone his age should have, who's so used to touch his own damaged skin he doesn't even flinch when he touches Roy. He slowly slides his hand down instead, gripping his hip when he meets it, grabbing his ass when he gets there.

“'Gonna do something or what?” He whispers against Roy's ear.

Roy kisses him, because he can't not do it. “Yeah,” he says. He was going for something witty, but he's not sure he can't formulate that many words when Edward is grinding his dick against his own, breathing heavy on his lips, and God, it's been a long time –

He grabs the bottle of lube from where Edward left it and moves to set himself between Edward's legs. He feels the cold steel ankle pressing against the small of his back when he slides a slick finger into him, hears the joints of Edward's right arm moving as the fingers tighten on the sheets, and when Roy takes him in his mouth, Edward bites on his flesh hands to muffle his groans. And when Roy adds fingers, he takes the other, the metal one, to put it on his head, pressing it, a move that means _you can pull, you can grab, you can have whatever you want_ , Edward does it – he sinks his fingers into dark hair, pushes Roy's head when he wants more, and Roy almost _gags_ , but he doesn't gave a flying fuck –

“Fuck, shit, _fuck –_ ” Edward says behind his hand. “Right there, right _fucking – there –_ ” Roy twists his fingers in a way that make Edward hips shift, and this time, the grip on his hair lifts Roy's head upwards. “Come here,” Edward says – whispers, out of breath. “Come here,” he says as Roy crawls back on top of him. “Come here,” he says as he kisses him so hard Roy can't breathe. “Fuck me,” he says when he's rolled on his stomach, and the way the muscles of his back move under the skin distracts Roy for a second before he proceeds to answer Edward's request, order, whatever –

“Breathe,” he says in a whisper against Edward's skin, more for himself than anything, and Edward either understands that or doesn't care, because he doesn't even bother to give a proper answer. His answer is a grunt muffled in the pillow, fingers gripping onto sheets so hard he could tear them apart, and hips moving in a way that makes Roy's whole body clench –

He tries not to think about the way Edward breathes, Edward moves, Edward _is_ in general, makes him _want_ , he tries not to think about the fact that _he_ is the closest he's been to peace in a long, long time – he tries not to think about _anything_ in general because hell, nobody should ever think that much while having sex.

He soon stops, though – he's brought back into reality by a snap of Edward's hips as well as a muffled “move, for fuck's sake –”, and when he does, as slow and careful as he can manages, Edward _sobs_ , and he loses it. He jolts into motion with a strong grip on Edward's hips and lightning in his veins, and his breath is too unsteady for it to be healthy but he doesn't ever want this to end – “Harder,” Ed says, and when Roy obeys, he does his best not to make any noise, or any that could be heard outside of this room, at least. He's verbal, groaning and whispering and cursing, and Roy really has to figure out how it is when he doesn't have to be silent, because it can't be anything other than fucking exquisite.

He bends down, sometimes, leaving sloppy kisses down Edward's spine, biting the thick flesh of his left shoulder, burying his face in the nape of his neck. He lets his hands go wherever they're allowed to, feels the muscles under Edward's skin moving, buries his fingers in his hair and grips it when Edward sighs in pleasure, curls them around his cock as his sweaty chest touches Edward's back –

“Wait,” Edward says, and Roy stops.

“Did I do anything wrong –”

“No,” Edward cuts him. “No, wait –” He moves to get Roy out of himself, turns on his back, brushes all the hair that's fallen into his face back. “I can't – come on the fucking sheets.”

Roy smiles, laughs, almost – whether it's because of the situation, maybe it's a nervous thing from how the vision of Edward, breathless and gorgeous, is making him feel. “Alright,” he says as he gets closer. “Can I?”

“You fuckin' better,” Edward says, and he shuffles their bodies closer, fists his metal hand in Roy's hair and kisses him messily.

He has Edward panting again a few seconds better, the grip of his thighs strong around Roy's hips, and when Roy hits him _there_ again and it becomes less easy to keep himself from making noise when he hasn't any pillow to bite on, Roy brings a hand to his mouth – “Is this ok?” he asks, hesitantly covering his lips with his fingers. And Edward, as always, isn't hesitant – he nods furiously, pushes Roy's hand against his mouth with his own, tightens his grip on his hair, and a few thrusts later, Roy comes so violent it's almost dizzying.

He keeps moving inside Edward, his left hand still pushing over his mouth and the right one grabbing his dick –

And when he comes over his fingers, pulling harder on Roy's hair and looking for all the strenght he can find not to shout, Roy tries to think about how he wants to do that again, how he wants to fall asleep with his nose buried in Edward's scent and wake up with his arms around him, feeling at place, feeling safe –

It takes a minute or two before one of them does anything. It's Edward who makes the first move, slowly shifting from under Roy to get his bag and find a pack of tissues to clean himself up. Roy removes the condom and asks for one to bury it in it. Edward gets up to throw both tissues in the little trashcan next to the cupboard. When he comes back to him, Roy's still out of breath.

“Good Lord,” Roy whispers.

It's too dark, and Roy is too spaced out for him to see anything besides hair that's falling over shoulders and the vague definitions of Edward's face next to his when he lays down. “You old, old man,” Edward says. And Roy is going to say something, to protest, anything, but Edward kisses his forehead. “Go to sleep.”

“Edward –” He doesn't know what's supposed to follow, doesn't know what he intended to say.

He'll never know anyway, because Edward speaks faster than him. “Oh, shut up,” he says. “'s Ed. Nobody calls me Edward. I didn't tell you that?” And Roy wants to say _we've known each other for a couple of days, give yourself more time to tell me things_ , but the whole concept of _more time_ isn't something that's going to apply to them, isn't it? They reach Central, Roy drops Edward – _Ed –_ where he needs to, they say goodbye, end of story. “Plus, we've fucked – I think we're intimate enough for you to call me by my nickname.”

Roy doesn't say that he'd call him every name he wants, doesn't say that he'd do anything if it meant he could stay in his arms for a little bit longer _._ The automail is cold against his hot skin, but it's still _warm_ to have someone. “Alright,” he says.

Ed kisses his forehead again. “Go to sleep,” he says.

Roy does.

 

*

 

Rose fixes them breakfast, the morning after. If she's heard anything from what they did this night, she does an excellent job at hiding it.

Meanwhile, Roy loses himself into contemplation as Ed and Rose start a conversation about pets – he doesn't really listen, doesn't even hear what's being said. But Ed smiles, Ed is bright, Ed is fucking pure light in his life and he doesn't know how the hell it happened, but it's here.

Somewhere deep inside of him, Roy buries the thought that he wouldn't mind waking up to this everyday.

 

*

 

Ed's friend texts them around eleven, saying that she'll be there in about an hour.

At noon, they're back at the gas station, and on the parking, there's a dark orange Jeep that Ed identifies as “that geek's car, no doubt”. Which is confirmed as soon as they get out of Rose's car, because the Jeep's owner sees them and gets out, too.

“Yo, Win,” Ed says as they approach. “Yo, Pani,” he tells the other girl who just got off the passenger seat. “Nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, since it's been _so_ fucking long,” Winry says, almost spits – which is very contrasted by the smile she gives Roy once she's detached her look from Ed. “Hey, I'm Winry,” she tells him, offering him a hand that he takes. “This is my girlfriend Paninya. You're the owner of the car, right?” Winry's got long platinum hair tied up in a high ponytail and a fair amount of piercings on both of her ears. When Paninya gets on their side of the car, Roy notices the matching rings.

“It's me, I'm afraid,” Roy says.

“I'm sorry you had to watch this moron,” Winry says, pointing to Ed. “Oh, and, thanks to you –” she addresses at Rose, behind them, “for inviting them into your house. That's so kind of you – I don't know if I would have done the same. I've known Ed for most of my life, unfortunately – I know he's a pain.”

“That was nothing,” Rose says, waving her hands in front of her. “I'm always happy to help, really.”

“Thanks, my dear childhood friend, for always being so supportive,” Ed barks. “Always nice to know you keep such a good image of me.”

Winry rolls her eyes. “So,” she says. “Where's the car?”

 

*

 

“I can't fucking believe I didn't notice,” Ed says, wiping a tear away from his eye. He's been laughing for a solid minute now. “I don't know whether it's fucking ridiculous or totally amazing. You're a real complex being, y'know that?”

“I've been told so,” Roy says, and that's it – Ed loses it again.

“A Mustang driving a Mustang,” he says. “Fuck's sake –”

Roy rolls his eyes. Behind Ed's laughter, Winry's still spilling out amazed exclamations – at Roy, at his car, or at herself, who knows, but she seems very pleased about the Mustang anyway.

Later, when Rose has left for work and Winry is done crying tears of joy looking at the car, and, most importantly, actually looking inside of it to see what's wrong, she comes back to them. Meanwhile, Paninya got herself and Winry hamburgers. Winry kisses her on the cheek. “You're the best,” she says as she takes a bite. Then she looks at Roy. “You can try to turn it on,” she says. “The battery terminals just needed to be tightened – I checked if anything was damp, 'cause it's often that, but everything looks ok.”

She was right, of course – when Roy starts the car, it works as good as new.

“That's amazing,” he says as he gets off his seat. “You did a perfect job. How much do I owe you?”

Ed raises a hand. “You ain't payin' shit,” he says.

“It's my car –”

“And I haven't given you anything to pay the fuel yet. Consider this a refund.”

“I wasn't intending on asking you money for the fuel –”

“I insist that you let him pay, Sir” Winry says, taking another mouthful in her sandwich. Paninya is already almost done with hers, God knows how that's possible. “If I could get paid to stand that little shit, I'd be so damn rich.”

“I don't know what I have done to you to deserve such an unfair treatment,” Ed exclaims, his tone purposely and exaggeratedly offended. “I've never seen you talk to Al like that.”

“That's because Al isn't a _pain_ in the _ass._ And he practically raised you when I wasn't there. That's something I respect.”

“I'm the big brother, for fuck's sake.” Edward gets his backpack on the hood of the car and opens it. “Even he treats me like a kid, and _I'm the big brother_.” He gets his wallet out.

“Maybe if you weren't so short...”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ed catches Roy smiling. “And I see you, too – don't fucking start.”

 

*

 

Ed starts to laugh again as they're fucking on the backseat – still on the parking lot, except Winry and Paninya have left ten minutes ago and Roy really, really hopes no one's going to stop here for at least ten more. Roy is sitting and Ed is on top of him, his legs on each side of his hips.

“What's so funny?” Roy asks – a little bit out of breath, he must admit, because Ed is even more stunning during sex when you can see him in the light of day, golden hair falling behind his eyes and a bright smile that won't shut off.

“I'm riding a Mustang,” Ed says, and Roy rolls his eyes –

“That is incredibly comical, indeed,” he says, trying his best to keep a straight face, not to smile, but how can he when the other is being so damn contagious about it? God, he wants to laugh too – he wants to bury his face in that neck and never stop feeling good.

“I'm riding a Mustang,” Ed repeats, still grinning like a _motherfucker –_ “ _In_ a Mustang.” He wraps his arms around Roy's neck. “That's it. That's the best day of my life. That's excellent.”

“Your _ass_ is excellent,” Roy says as he thrusts –

“I hope so,” Ed sighs, “since you've your _dick_ – _ah_ –”

Turns out, Roy was right – it's much better to have this when there's no one to hear them, and Ed is _vocal_. He groans and moans and swears, loud and shameless, and he still bites and pulls and grabs. It's different from last night – perhaps even more rushed, and a little bit less comfortable, but right now, Roy wouldn't have it any other way. It doesn't last as long as it did the first time, either, but it's alright – it's alright as long as he's got Edward's arms wrapped around him after, as long as they can share their shallow breathing while they get themselves together.

They do. Ed rests his forehead on his shoulder, presses a kiss there, and doesn't move. When Roy starts to run his fingers along the small of his back, he almost purrs.

He nevers wants to move.

 

*

 

Not long after they get on the road, it starts raining again.

“It shows that we're nearing Central,” Ed says, closing his book. “The fucking amount of rain you get there.”

“You didn't, in Resembool?”

“Not that much. I mean, it rains sometimes, during fall, and we have summer storms – but we barely had snow in winter, and as soon as spring is there, it never rains more than an hour or two. I feel like I've only seen grey skies since I arrived in Central.”

Roy feels like it too, but it's been a lifetime. How ironic, for someone who hates rain. “Winry and Paninya are from Resembool too?” he asks.

“Winry is,” Ed answers. His book is now resting on his knees with his hands on it – he isn't wearing gloves, this time. “We kinda grew up together. When my mom died, Al and I would spend most of our time at her place. My grandmother – who's _her_ grandmother, actually – took care of us. Which is a good thing, because as I said, I can't cook for shit, and I wasn't any better at it when I was six.” _Six_ , Roy thinks. Ed was six when his mother died, and God knows how young when he lost his limbs – it can't be fair to lose so much when you're so young. “Paninya's from Rush Valley. Winry met her on an internship – I don't know if you've ever been there, but it's like – fucking paradise if you're into automails. Like a giant con, but for mechanics. Win works there, now – they were in Resembool on a holiday, so I went there too. Figured it would be nice to say hello.”

“Don't you have classes to attend to?”

Ed shrugs. “Only have shitty teachers the end of the week, and I learn better by myself anyway,” Ed says. _Of course_ he does. “By the way, where're you from?” Ed asks.

“Born and raised in Central,” Roy says. “My mother was Xingese, and my father Amestrian. I don't remember them, though – they died when I was still in a cradle. My aunt Chris raised me.”

“Talk about dysfunctional families, huh,” Ed says. “And you ever been to Xing?”

“Never – don't even speak the language. I know my mother's family from afar, but she was born in Amestris, too. They've all immigrated here.”

“Oh,” Ed says. “Shit. I have a friend in Xing, and he always tells me I should come over, that he would pay for the plane and shit, but I don't speak a single word of Xingese and people barely understand Amestrian over there. Figured you could maybe help me.”

Roy smirks. “Like you couldn't learn it by yourself,” he says. “Didn't you say you were a fast learner?”

“Some people have things to do,” Ed says. “Like getting their fucking degree, for instance.”

“You do that,” Roy says. “And then you get better than me at a language I'm supposed to know.”

“Deal.”

It makes it sound like they're going to see each other again, but it's no promise – it's a conversation. A conversation is never a promise – Roy knows that, now. He wishes he had known, before.

“Where are we, now?” Ed asks.

“We've entered the Central Area,” Roy says. “Last sign said we were nearing Geob.” The GPS says they'll be in Central in two hours. Roy eyes at Ed for a brief second before focusing on the road again. He would close his eyes, if he could. To memorize this, too keep it intact – who knows how much time will pass until he can feel a little bit at peace again.

“Can we stop somewhere?” Ed says. “'m hungry.”

“When are you _not_ hungry?” He can see Ed shrug next to him. “It's barely been thirty minutes since we've left. You could have bought something there.”

“Wasn't hungry, then,” Ed says. “Plus, I kinda want to suck you off.”

“Again, it's barely been thirty minutes.”

“Old man.”

“Brat.”

Roy smiles.

 

*

 

It's three in the afternoon when they reach Central. Edward suggests Roy drops him at the nearest subway station, because driving in Central on a Saturday afternoon is never a good idea.

“How do you even do it?” he asks. “Getting home by car. I don't even own a car and I'm in pain for every driver I see stuck in the streets.”

“I live in the suburbs,” Roy says.

“Oh,” Ed says. “Fancy.” Then he turns at him. “Well, thanks,” he tells him, looking at him in the eyes – _gold_ , so gold – “For the ride. And for bearing with me. 't was nice.”

Roy smiles – he doesn't even bother to hide how sad that looks, because right now, he can only think about the loneliness that awaits once he gets home, or even just once Ed closes this door and lives him on his own in this car. “You are welcome,” he says. He should probably start working soon – keep his mind busy. He won't tell Gracia, or he will, maybe – maybe he'll be honest, maybe he'll finally admit something's wrong, but that's daydreaming, that's utopia. Life will go on as it always did, and maybe it's time to stop being so dramatic about it.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that Ed's gaze is still on him, and that he isn't moving. “Something wrong?” he asks.

“Don't look so fucking sad,” Ed says. “You doing anything tomorrow night?”

Roy blinks. “No,” he says after a while. “It's Sunday.”

“Good,” Ed says. “Give me your number, then.”

“Aren't you?” Roy asks. “Doing something tomorrow night.”

“It's sunday,” Ed says. And don't you dare tell me I'm too young to spend my time with people like you and that I should hang out with people my own age, I've heard that plenty. Now give me your number.”

Roy blinks again. “Alright,” he says.

Ed kisses him before getting off the car. “Have a good day,” he says against his lips. “And watch your phone. I'll text you the address.” He kisses him again, twice, and then he leaves.

Roy hears his phone buzzing as soon as he's started the car, after Ed got himself and his stuff off the passenger seat so fast that it looks like nobody's ever been there at all. He waits until he's stopped by a red light to open the message.

**Unknown Number (15:21):** _ i know that look on someone's face, and i'm shit at this, you have no idea. but i like you and you don't have to be alone. meet me there at 8 tomorrow night. don't drink too much _ .

There's a link to the Maps app that leads to the address of a bar when he opens it.

Roy looking at the text until the light gets green, and he starts to drive again. He's too old for this.

He smiles.

 


End file.
